


Primary Duty

by The_Wavesinger



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Dom/sub, F/F, Humiliation, Obedience, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 21:13:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17794853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wavesinger/pseuds/The_Wavesinger
Summary: A handmaiden's first duty is to serve her Queen.





	Primary Duty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stephanericher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/gifts).



Palpatine’s got more age, more experience than her, he’s a _Senator_ , and she should be grateful for his guidance.

But really, Padmé thinks, he’s _dull_. It’s not that he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He does, and he’s good at it. But still. It feels…oily. Wrong.

Which is stupid. Padmé knows it’s stupid. She shouldn’t dismiss his opinions just because they don’t see eye-to-eye on how the Republic funding should be distributed. Just because she doesn’t _like_ him. So she bites her tongue as his holoimage equivocates on trade laws. Trade laws Padmé doesn’t like at _all_ , and no, she’s not going to let any extraplanetary corporations pay lower tariffs than her own people, but she’s not going to say that _now_. Or at any point until she has enough support behind her to quash this stupid notion.

Except that there are thirty more minutes of this meeting left, her throne is decidedly uncomfortable and her belt is cutting into her, and she’s possibly going to commit murder if she doesn’t get out _now_.

“Thank you, Senator, I’ll remember that.” Padmé shapes the words formulaically. If only she could get Sabé to take her place at this kind of meeting—

And speaking of Sabé. Her chief handmaiden’s hurrying over to her, and when she’s in the holoimage’s line of sight, she bends to whisper in Padmé’s ear. “Captain Panaka needs to speak to you, Your Highness, on an urgent matter. It can’t wait.”

Which—isn’t any better than the meeting. The meeting isn’t a security threat, at least, brings only the danger of boredom. “I’m sorry, Senator, but I just got a message—”

Palpatine inclines his head. “We can pick this up at a later date, then, Your Highness, if you’ll permit?”

Padmé says,  “Of course,” with her best regal hand gesture, and the hologram blinks out of sight.

“You should thank me for the rescue, Your Highness,” Sabé says, the moment Palpatine is gone. Padmé frowns, looks around. Realizes her handmaidens have faded out of the room the way they tend to do on Sabé’s command.

“Very impressive,” Padmé says. “But you realize he _will_ call again?”

Sabé smiles at her, a sparkling smile full of mischief. “But not today. You already had three meetings this morning, Your Highness, and then you have a Council meeting the whole afternoon and then the state dinner for Lady Jamil. You don’t need to deal with him right now, the old toad.”

“Sabé!” Padmé snaps. It’s not that she disagrees with Sabé, but she can’t—

“I’m sorry, Your Highness.” Sabé bows her head. “That was rude of me, I apologize. But still,” her eyes brighten, “that does mean we have the whole half-hour.”

Padmé knows that glint in Sabé’s eye. And yes, she should be more angry that Sabé interrupted a meeting for _this_. She would be angry if it was any other meeting, but for this one, she’s willing to let a little bit of protocol-breaking slide. Besides, she’s all loose and shuddery under her skin, needs to settle. Needs this, needs Sabé.

She nods.

 

 

That’s enough for Sabé. “Stand up, please, Your Highness.”

Padmé stands. Her hands fold themselves behind her back, wrist to wrist and palm to palm, and she looks down automatically at that tone in Sabé’s voice.

“If you could step out of your underwear, Your Highness.”

Padmé reaches under her skirts, slides her pants slowly down her legs. Goosebumps form where cloth rustles across skin, and her hands tremble as she drops the requested underwear into Sabé’s hands.

“Open your mouth, please, Your Highness.”

Padmé does, obediently. Her own underwear immediately fills her mouth, and she’s gagging on the taste of herself.

She doesn’t even think of spitting it out. This is part of the ritual. This is something Sabé wants her to do, something she’ll do for Sabé. So she stands there obediently, tasting salt in her mouth, her own musk wafting up to her nose. Her core feels stretched, tight, and she knows that if she feels herself she’ll be dripping wet.

“Take your breasts out of your dress, please, Your Highness.”

Now Padmé’s hands are definitely trembling as she unlaces the bodice of her gown just enough. Only her breasts, nothing else. Sabé only asked her to expose her tits, so she’ll only expose her tits. Even though standing in the middle of her throne room with her tits hanging out and her underwear stuffed in her mouth is not befitting the dignity of a planetary ruler. (She blushes even as she thinks it, but the heat rising through her body is not unpleasant. Unsettling, making her restless, yes. But not unpleasant.)

Sabé settles herself on the throne, legs spread, and for this Padmé knows exactly what she has to do. She drops to her knees, moving between Sabé’s thighs until she has full access to all of Sabé.

“Now _stay_ , please,” Sabé says. “And keep your hands on your thighs, if you could, Your Highness. I’m afraid you won’t be getting any kind of release today.”

Padmé bites back a whine. She’d be reprimanded for that, and not in a pleasant way. Instead, she shifts, on her knees before Sabé. She won’t complain—she _needs_ this, even if it isn’t what her body wants.

A handmaiden’s first duty, after all, is to serve.


End file.
